


Starting Rough

by Chronically_Writing



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Past Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:15:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23822170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chronically_Writing/pseuds/Chronically_Writing
Summary: The first signs of the apocalypse had reached the trailer park before Daryl's father was mauled by walkers.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 6





	Starting Rough

**Author's Note:**

> Please note that the justification of Will's abuse is from Daryl's state of mind in his circumstances and not my own personal beliefs.

It was another humid day in the trailer park. People were glued to their radios and televisions as channel after channel reported on a disease sweeping the world, police brutality, people swarming shops and people claiming of others walking down the streets biting other citizens, crazed enough to fight through the pain of pepper spray and bullet wounds as the police tried to restrain them.

Will Dixon scoffed at the latest report of a mother weeping about her child that had tried to eat the family dog. ‘Damn city slickers makin’ up stories to gain attention, pathetic.”

Daryl frowned when his father turned off the radio, ‘I was listenin’ to that.’

Will walked to the kitchen and yanked open the fridge, ‘Ain’t nothin’ to listen to. Bunch of bullshit if you ask me.” He snagged a beer, popped the cap, and took several loud gulps. Daryl watched him out of the corner of his eye. The beer was the fourth one his father had drunk in the last hour and Daryl’s skin crawled at the thought of having to deal with a drunk Will Dixon. 

Will threw himself onto the couch beside his son and took another sip of beer. His breath was fowl as he belched loudly. Daryl stood up, making sure not to make eye contact with the larger male, and began clearing up the other bottles and cans strewn around the small trailer. Anything to keep him busy and away from Will. 

He had thought about leaving his cantankerous father many times, but he had inherited his mother’s loyalty to family. Daryl also doubted he would be able to survive on his own. He had been told many times that he was useless and not worth anyone’s time, hell, he had the scars as a permanent reminder of these things.

The rumble of a car pulling up near the trailer gave Will incentive to heave himself off the thread-bare couch and look out the door. The engine cut off and Will gave a snort of amusement, ‘Hmm, looks like the devil has come.’

Daryl tossed another empty bottle into the bin and looked at the larger man to wordlessly ask him to explain. Will grinned and walked towards Daryl, clapping him on the shoulder, ignoring the shudder that ran through his son’s body, ‘Get your hunting gear we are heading to Jess’ cabin for the week.’

Daryl glared at his father’s retreating back. He would greatly appreciate being told when plans had been made instead of having to just follow along after his father like a lost puppy, but he kept his mouth shut and did as he was told. He would not dare disagree with his father, especially not after several alcoholic drinks were coursing through the man’s system. 

The last time Daryl had disagreed with his drunken father he had spent a good half an hour trying to clean the deep lacerations on his back and shoulders to prevent an infection. He could not remember the details of the argument, but he knew it had something to do with Merle’s latest stint in jail. In hindsight the beating should have been expected, not only had Daryl disrespected his father’s beliefs but he had also defended his brother which was a bad move given how quick Will lashed out at the mere mention of his eldest. 

The wounds from that argument had wept, bleed and scabbed over before leaving behind several whip-thin scars across his shoulders. Daryl had taken to hiding his scars under clothing. They were a constant reminder of his stupidity and lack of foresight around his father. Jimmy, the brown-haired boy at the end of the trailer park, had similar scars but Daryl knew he had gotten those because his father was constantly looking for a fight with anyone that could not match him in strength. Daryl’s father was not like that, any beating he gave his youngest son had a clear reason whether it be because Daryl had not checked if they were running low on cigarettes or because he had not cleaned the rifle. Daryl was just too idiotic to learn even after all these years of his father trying to teach him life’s rules and consequences.

Daryl walked out to the pick-up truck with his hunting gear and a spare pair of clothes. He nodded as Jess who was still sitting in the car grinning at him, ‘Hurry up, got places to be.’ Daryl tossed his stuff into the back of the truck and looked up to the sky in exasperation.

Not only was he suddenly being told he was going on a hunting trip he did not know about but now he would have to suffer through the company of his father, uncle Jess and Buck. The latter grated on Daryl’s nerves. He was thoughtless and loud but what else could one expect from one of Will’s drinking buddies.

Ten minutes later, Daryl rested his chin on the palm of his hand and watched the scenery fly past his window. Will drove the truck with one hand on the steering wheel and the other flicking through radio channels to find one playing music instead of emergency broadcasts. When the effort proved to be futile, he gave up and settled for silence for which Daryl was grateful. He became lost in his thoughts and preparing himself for what would most likely be an awfully long week.

With dusk fast approaching, Will parked the coughing pick-up truck next to the hunting cabin. Daryl swung open his door and stepped out, breathing in the rich scent of damp earth and oak. He set about fetching the hunting gear out of the truck and trudging up to the dilapidated door of the hunting cabin. 

The wooden floors had started to decay from the overwhelming humidity. Beer cans nestled under the tattered armchairs. The place needed renovations desperately, but it provided shelter and that is all that the men needed from it. Daryl placed his crossbow and bag in the room he would be sharing with Will. 

Daryl went back outside and started to collect the rest of their stuff when Buck spoke to his other two companions, ‘Heard from Tilly. Says her fiancé has the fever all ‘em news stations are talkin’ ‘bout.’ 

‘She still in Atlanta?’ Jess asked, swinging a rifle onto his narrow shoulder.

‘yep’

Will snorted loudly from where he was sitting on a tree stump, ‘Nothing good comes out of living in those fancy ass cities. All stuck together, no wonder they all sick.’

That was something that Daryl could agree with. He had never been a big fan of the claustrophobic cities with crowded streets chocked with stale air and fumes. 

A grin spreads over Buck’s weasel-like features, ‘If he dies, I’ll get a piece of da’ ass.”

Will lit a cigarette and blew a plume of smoke up into the air, ‘li’l Tilly’d have to get rid of her standards altogether for that ta’ happen.”

Buck flipped him off as Jess laughed and draped an arm around his offended friend. Sensing that the conversation had left the topic of the illness and moved onto more questionable things, Daryl chose to ignore the others and finish unpacking. It was getting too late to do a hunt today given that the best game in the woods were diurnal. 

He hopped onto the back of the truck with his back to the other three and watched the sun disappear behind the large trees. He lit a cigarette and tried not to flinch when Buck wacked his hand against the other car’s engine to illustrate how amused he was by a joke Jess had told.

The others went back into the cabin and Daryl followed, after finishing off his smoke, to find a jacket to fend off the nights cold air. He remained in the cabin until the moment Will reached for his second moonshine jar from the crate Jess had brought. Daryl had quietly announced he was going for a walk and slipped out the front door. Buck’s cackles of him being a lightweight pussy followed him out. 

Daryl picked his way between tree roots and small plants with only moonlight to guide his path. He listened as crickets chirped and an owl hooted from high above his head. He was not planning to hunt this night despite having his crossbow, but he loathed the idea of being unarmed in the woods with boars and people wondering around.

After two hours the densely packed trees opened to an impression of a seasonal river. The Dixon sat down on the edge and tugged at the grass near his knee. He took a moment to appreciate the clear night sky. He missed the days when his father would lie down next to him and point out the constellations and tell their stories in his low rumble of a voice. It had been over a decade since Daryl had such a peaceful memory with his father. The loss of his mother had changed Will Dixon from a strict, short tempered but loving father to a much colder, meaner version of himself brought out by grief and alcohol. 

Someone in town had once said that Will was a drunkard; incapable of loving a living creature. Daryl disagreed, he had plenty of memories before his mother’s death of his father teaching him how to read the stars, how to skin a rabbit, he protected Daryl from nightmares as a small child. A man capable of that could not just turn into a ruthless creature overnight. Even after Daryl’s mother burnt in bed, Will had still provided food and when he was not drunk, he would still playfully tease Daryl and offer to deliver one of the letters for his brother to the post office. 

It had been years since Will whipped his son with a belt, granted that was because Daryl was now able to put up a fight, but it did not mean his missteps were left without reprimand. Just the other week he had nursed a split lip and tender ribs. Living with Will Dixon was like living with a captive-born predator, relaxed and gentle enough when satiated but deadly if the keeper turned their back.

The shriek of a vixen jerked Daryl out of his pondering. Brought back to his senses, Daryl brought his hand up to cover his nose when the putrid scent of rotting meat hit him. The too sweet scent of decay was unmistakable, and Daryl wondered how he had not smelt it earlier. The wind had not changed direction and the scent had come on quite suddenly. 

Daryl stood up and squinted into the darkness of the trees on the other side of the dried riverbed. He could hear a breathy kind of snarl, but the uncoordinated sound of the footsteps ruled out any animals that came to his mind. Daryl swung his crossbow onto his shoulder. He stared into the trees and after a few seconds the deeper shadows turned to liquid as his mind filled in the blank spaces with the movement he was expecting.

The snarling began to fade, heading away to Daryl and deeper into the woods. After it had been silent for five minutes, Daryl lowered his bow and rolled his shoulders to ease the strain in the muscles. The woods began to feel wrong and instinct pushed Daryl to turn around and head back to the cabin. It took him half of the journey back for him to realize that the scent of decay had followed the retreating growls.

In the heat of the next day, Will had managed to shoot a large buck leading a small group of females. The shot was not lined up properly and instead clipped the hindquarters of the male. The herd had scattered, and the wounded white-tailed deer leapt into the underbrush. 

The tracks of the deer herd were haphazard and difficult to make out. Impatient as always, Will decided they would split up and follow the different tracks. Daryl bit the inside of his cheek to avoid saying to his father that it was very clear which tracks belonged to the injured buck given that the left hind print was deeper, showing that the leg was taking on more of the animals weight as it limped but he was certain the helpful advice would be taken as snark.

Will and Buck headed east towards the riverbed while Jess and Daryl moved west, following several tracks. Jess was not the worst hunting companion; he knew what he was doing and was considerably quieter than Will, but wondering alone with another male put Daryl on edge and he was unable to enjoy the process of tracking.

The trees creaked as a wind flowed between the branches bringing with it the scent of decay. Jess grimaced at the stench, ‘Shit, somethin’ has been dead for a while.’ 

Daryl hummed in response, ‘Deer carcass. Probably nearby.”

A sharp scream rang out followed by several distinct gun shots. Jess swung around with wide eyes, “Fuck, that’s the boys!” he yelled before running past Daryl. Another gunshot and Daryl found himself sprinting after his uncle. Branches snagged at his clothes and his crossbow banged against his back. The dappled lighting played with his eyes and he stumbled over some roots then changed direction and followed Jess and the smell of death down into the riverbed.

The river twisted and bent, but the path was clearer, and Daryl put on another burst of speed when his father’s shouts began. Daryl had never heard his father sound like that. The sound was borderline hysterical and had a gurgling liquid undertone to it. Daryl scrambled up the riverbank side. 

The scent of decay became overpowering.

A woman stepped out from behind a tree and limped rapidly towards him. Daryl had a split second to take in the clouded eyes and blood-soaked dress before the blonde woman grabbed onto his shoulders, snapping her teeth, and clawing at his neck. 

‘What the fuck, bitch!’ Daryl shouted holding the woman’s neck to keep her face away. He shoved his attacker sideways, shifting behind the woman and yanking her right arm behind her, straddling her back.

The woman growled and convulsed underneath Daryl. Her strained shoulder gave a sickening crack as she continued to fight against him. There was something severely wrong with this woman, Daryl realised, she dislocated her own arm and seemed unbothered by what Daryl knew was a painful injury.

‘Move!” Jess shouted at Daryl. The younger male looked up and saw Jess pointing his shot gun directly at him. Daryl pushed himself up and stumbled a few steps away from his attacker. She immediately began trying to get up, but Jess shot her square in the chest.

The woman jerked from the impact of the bullet, but she did not go down. Thick blood seeped out of the wound and Daryl knew it should have hit one of her lungs but again she seemed unbothered.

She staggered to her feet and moved towards Jess. The man fired another shot into her stomach and Daryl watched in confused horror as she continued staggering towards his uncle. Jess raised his gun again, but the hammer just clicked, and the woman lurched onto him. He grappled with her, shouting inaudible curses until Daryl ran up towards the two people and shoved his hunting knife into her temple in a last attempt to try stop her from attacking them. 

The blonde woman collapsed, boneless, to the ground and her skull banged against Jess’s shoes. The two men backed up and watched her for a moment, breathing harshly from adrenalin, half expecting her to come at them again. She did not get back up.

Jess hit his temple with an open hand and shouted, ‘What the actual fuck was that fucking thing?’ He leaned towards Daryl waving two of his fingers at him, ‘I shot the bitch twice! She just kept on coming. She just…bang…but she just kept coming.’ His breaths quickened and he covered his eyes, ‘Who the fuck in this fucking fucked-up fuck world fucking walks after being shot fucking twice!’

Daryl barely heard his uncle’s rant while he continued to stare at the body with wide eyes. His mind tried to process everything that happened. Living things did not survive point blank shots like that. Living things did not have thick, gelatinous blood. Living things did not smell like death.

‘She’s dead.’ 

Jess turned towards the Dixon, ‘Of course she’s fucking dead, you retard. I shot her, twice, and you stabbed her in the head.’ The last words came out as hoarse shouts.

‘No, man’ Daryl flung out his arm to gesture to the body, ‘she was dead before I stabbed her!’ He began to pace and gesture around them, letting out breathy whimpers between words, ‘She ain’t living. She had the…sickness that all the docs are talkin’ ‘bout, dead but walkin’.’

Jess rounded on Daryl and pressed his grime-coated hand against Daryl’s chest, ‘those were fuckin’ rumours to scare folks into staying home.’

Daryl stepped towards him, squaring his shoulders, ‘then why she only stop when I stabbed her in the head?’

That gave Jess a pause and he opened his mouth to reply when they heard a groan. The sound brought Daryl back to the situation they were in. Several other people he did not recognise lay strewn out on the grass, all with bullet holes in their heads and the smell of decay coating the metallic scent of blood. A body lay by the tree line, his weasel-like face stuck in a frozen scream with his hand wedged into another man’s mouth. Daryl felt sick before looking around for the source of the groan and saw his father lying on red grass.

‘Dad!’ Daryl shouted rushing up to the man. Jess jogged after him and looked down on his half-brother and lifelong friend. Jess had little first aid knowledge besides that moonshine made a fantastic painkiller but even he knew there was no saving Will.

A deep bite-like wound revealed his cheek bone, and another left a deep gouge in the muscle of his bicep. The worst was where his shirt had been torn and his pale stomach had been dug into leaving blood cascading down his side and a few organs covered in slowly congealing blood.

Daryl’s breath escaped his mouth and a child-like sob. His chest heaved with barely contained anguish. He knelt beside his father and pushed the flap of skin back into place on his father’s check, like just bringing the pieces of flesh together would get them to fuse and make the wound disappear. Jess bent down and picked up Will’s fallen shot gun.

He checked the chamber, noted the two bullets left, smeared the blood off the engraving of his wife’s name and tapped the barrel against Daryl’s shaking shoulder, ‘Gotta put him down, can’t fix this. He’s just sufferin’ now. Safety’s off.’

Daryl looked at the gun and pulled himself to his feet. He took the cold weapon in his hand and looked at his father. The usually stoic man was trying to pull little breaths of air into his failing lungs, his muscles quivered, and tears of agony trailed out the corner of his eyes and pooled by his ears.

Daryl pointed the gun at his father. When he was younger Will had told him, you had to shut out emotions to get a good shot. Turn off the human side of you before you took aim because whatever was on the other side of the gun was at your mercy and if you empathised with them you would not pull the trigger and you would either be killed instead or go hungry. 

Daryl could not shut off his emotions, his dad was dying at his feet and the gun was shaking so much he would most likely miss the shot and just cause his father more pain. Daryl lowered the gun and took a deep breath. He willed his heart to slow its rapid beat.

He raised the gun again, ready to pull the trigger but he made the mistake of looking into his father’s sky-blue eyes. They shared the same colour eyes because they were related, they were blood and blood does not kill blood, that is not the Dixon way. He lowered the gun again and tried to ignore the way that his eyes burned, and his throat closed. 

‘Good lord, son.’ Jess groaned and snatched the gun away from Daryl. The younger male flinched away from the quick movement and ducked his head, his muscles tensing ready for a punch in the face for his indecision and ineptitude, but Jess just raised the gun, took a steadying breath, ‘sorry brother’, and fired.

Daryl gagged at the sharp sound and turned away from his father’s body. He did not want to see how Will’s skull had caved in from the force of the bullet. His shoulders rounded with the knowledge that his father, who had raised him and taught him about the world, was gone. He was alone now. His brother was locked up behind bars and his mother’s charred remains were six feet under.

He was completely alone but he certainly would not miss having to watch his father’s alcohol intake, or constantly have to keep himself from messing up and being beaten until he could not see straight. A part of him was grateful about his father’s death. He sniffed at that thought, how sick of him to be happy for a family member’s death just minutes after their death. Will was right, Daryl really was a screwed-up, disrespectful piece of white trash.

‘Come on, kid.’ Jess said running a hand through his hair, ‘time to head home. Maybe tell some folks what went down.’

Daryl gave a small nod still watching the ground as he followed Jess. Away from his father’s body, Buck’s ravaged corpse, the several other stinking bodies and the blonde woman. Daryl had a feeling that this was all just a warning. The world was about to become a whole lot more dangerous than it already was. Dead people walking, if that was not the sign of the end of the world then Daryl did not know what is.

**Author's Note:**

> I have always been interested in where all the characters come from and I also wanted to play with a different writing style while in lock-down. I hope I didn't waste your time if you got to this point.


End file.
